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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28541340">D'Artagnan? More like D'irtagnan</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evekle/pseuds/Evekle'>Evekle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Musketeers (2014)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, D'irtagnan, Episode Related, Gen, My First Work in This Fandom, an inside joke turned fic, d'artagnan eats dirt? d'irtagnan, five plus one fic, in which d'artagnan eats dirt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:54:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28541340</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evekle/pseuds/Evekle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A montage of d'Artagnan eating dirt throughout the series.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aramis | René d'Herblay &amp; d'Artagnan, d'Artagnan &amp; Athos | Comte de la Fère, d'Artagnan &amp; Constance Bonacieux, d'Artagnan &amp; Porthos du Vallon, d'Artagnan &amp; de Tréville (Trois Mousquetaires)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>D'Artagnan? More like D'irtagnan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>D’Artagnan likes to think that he has some honor, as in not eating dirt constantly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The world however, has other ideas. </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li>Out of the window into the dirt</li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>He wakes up the next morning to screams and a bloody dagger. The young man’s mind is spinning a mile a minute. All d’Artagnan can recall is the woman from the day before. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A smile from her to <em> this.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Slowly, he takes the blade out, confusion swimming in his mind. There’s commotion from the other room, the chattering of the other guests. Might as well see what all of this is about. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He’s dead!” one of the guests cries out. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Who’s dead?  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>D’Artagnan steps out, still clutching the small dagger. The others only stare through the opened door. Then he sees the man from the other day, his throat slit. His hands go cold, tendrils from the earth snaking to his forearms. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He did it!” one of the women shouts, pointing at him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He can’t move, not yet. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> It’s not me </em>, d’Artagnan wants to say, yet the words are clogged in this throat. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>So he does the next best thing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He runs. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The door is slammed behind him, the footsteps of the others close behind. Without another thought, d’Artagnan throws down the shelf without another word. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’ll only hold for a bit, despite everything. Part of him curses his luck because <em> of course </em>this would happen. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As the shouts get closer, the door quivering from everything, he turns to the window. This is his one chance. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>So he runs, breaking the blinds in the process. The sun greets him with a smile as he falls. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everything about it tastes like freedom. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then he hits the ground, successfully eating a bit of the gravel. Delicious.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>   2. Constance and falling vegetables</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do I look like a servant girl to you?” the woman questions with daggers in her eyes. D’Artagnan later learns that her name is Constance, one with fiery passion and one who will stand for what she believes in. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well-” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is my best dress!” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>D’Artagnan owes her his life. After all, he’s just avoided his hanging from that framing. It’s not something he can pay back easily. In a few swift steps, he looks ahead, then he turns to the woman again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you know where the musketeer garrison is?” he asks with the best smile he can muster. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She only looks at d’Artagnan with concern in her eyes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You look a bit pale, are you sure you’re alright?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m fine.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He collapses, knocking vegetables from the table in one swift moment. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The earth has never seemed so sweet. </p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>   3. Free of the ropes into an explosion</p>
<p><br/>The entire plan with Vadim goes off the rails very quickly. D’Artagnan tries to make it work, really does <em> try </em>to make sure all the variables fall into place. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course that’s when shit hits the fan. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s how he wakes up to barrels of gunpowder. D’Artagnan curses his own luck for being caught. His head pounds, spasms each time he tries to think of a possible way out of this. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has fifteen minutes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The candle flickers with a smile, shifting every few moments. He needs to get out of here. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The moment the ropes snape from his wrists, d’Artagnan breathes again. Now part of him prays the others are alright. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He needs to find Vadim. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then the sparks welcome him, like flies against the ground. It’s a wild dance to put them all out. If he’s lucky, the flames will not engulf everything in a moment. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>This is his home now. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s only after he defeats Vadim when the world laughs at him. There’s a flame bursting up, a phoenix being reborn into the world as he tries to find the others. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The entire thing ends with what he expects. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A mouthful of sand.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>   4. Training with Athos is a mistake</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Any time spent training for the challenge is one where d’Artagnan swears he’s hitting the ground more often than not. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You have natural talent but too often you let your emotions run away with you,” Athos lectures, pointing the blade between them. “Talent won’t keep you alive if your heart rules your head-” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Part of him internally groans.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can we get on with it?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My point in a nutshell.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first few sparks fly between their blades, a dance with a set tempo. He can follow the steps just fine. That’s when things start to go south as d’Artagnan parries the next blow. Athos’ expression is unreadable. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve heard that an ordinary prison isn’t good enough for Labarge,” his teacher says, nonchalant. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He almost throws his blade. <em> How dare Labarge-  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He’s in the Bastille, living in comfort… his every whim attended to,” Athos continues. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>D’Artagnan snarls, frustration mounting as he begins to see red. After everything, <em> this </em>is what he’s ended up with. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Imagine him there, living the life of a king.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He swings, not a care in the world. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The ground only ends up welcoming him. This time, the mud tastes like chicken. He gets back up, red is everywhere he looks. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>D’Artagnan only grimaces, glaring down at Athos who only shakes his head. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Every soldier has an achilles heel.” Athos tells him. “Control that and you control the fight.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The young man wants to tear his own hair out. He scoffs, striding away, one thing on his mind: </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Labarge will pay.</em> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>    5. Aramis and mud </p>
<p> </p>
<p>D’Artagnan needs to show Treville that he’s <em> ready </em>. Getting another mouthful of mud is the least of his concern. From the corner of his eyes, he can feel Athos staring at the back of his head. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Don’t blow it </em>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He swears he won’t. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As he parries the next blow from the marksman, d’Artagnan sees a gleam in Aramis’ eyes. They dance, back and forth until eventually, somehow, he hits the ground. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And eats a bit of mud. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve heard it’s your favourite meal,” Aramis jests. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh it is,” he responds with a grin. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was what it means to be a musketeer. It’s not the fights, but rather this camaraderie. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The others laugh and for the first time, the dread of the upcoming challenge is gone from his mind. </p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>    +1 </p>
<p> </p>
<p>D’Artagnan grimaces when Brujon hits the ground. The other cadet takes a step back, glancing at him with confusion. As Brujon gets up, he strides over. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knows Athos is <em> right there </em>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Here,” he says holding the blade. It feels like an extension of his arm. “Leave yourself open like that and you’re dead.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boy nods, staring back at him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This isn’t a game. Do you understand?” d’Artagnan continues. “Head over heart each time.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s a beat as he glances up at Athos with a grin. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Again!” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aramis and Porthos are talking with him over breakfast one day. There’s mirth in their eyes as they converse. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The cadets remind us of what used to be,” Porthos says with a smile. “So much passion and hitting the ground a lot.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Speaking of which,” Aramis adds in, turning to face d’Artagnan. “What does dirt taste like anyways? Surely you must know by how often you land on the ground.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Chicken.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The other three musketeers blink. Athos spits out his drink. </p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The context for this entire fic is a few mutuals and I making fun of how many times d'Artagnan hits the ground and probably eats dirt. This was an inside joke that grew into epic proportions and I was heavily enabled. Also apparently this is my newest obsession so more fics will come!! </p>
<p>To Chaos and Cheshire on discord, ILY &lt;3 (we yell together, feel free to join us)</p>
<p>Yell at me about The Musketeers on tumblr or discord! </p>
<p>Tumblr: Evekle </p>
<p>Discord: EliNLE#2838 (much more active here!!)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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